The Color of Rust
by Jeri Strauss
Summary: Have you ever wondered what happened to the rusted weapons? Why were they discarded and who were their owners? Now, they shall thell their story of a time when adepts were feared and hated and of their longing to see the sun rise again.
1. Prologue

**Shadow:** I was playing TLA this afternoon when inspiration struck. I had just found the Rusted Sword in Aqua Rock when I wondered about the history of the rusted weapons. How did the get there? Why did their previous owners discard them? This is my interpretation. Leave reviews and let me know what you think.

* * *

**Prologue**

_I was waiting for someone to come. _

The waters surrounding the blade receded. A man leapt down into the crevice, the ancient blade catching his amber eyes. He picked it up. The grip on the hilt was worn by time and the blade which was once bright and shining, was now covered with a layer of rust.

"What did you find?" a voice called out.

"It's a sword," he replied as he climbed up into the light. "But it looks like it's all rusted."

A girl stepped forward. Her auburn hair was tied back into a ponytail which hung down to her shoulder-blades. In her hands was a staff.

_We meet again. Our paths have crossed and now our stories are interwoven._

"We'll take it to Sunshine," she offered. "He fixed up my staff; he can re-forge the sword."

The man nodded and placed the sword in its equally worn sheath.

"To Yallam then," the man said. They gathered their things and stepped out into the light.

_I have a story to tell. It is a story than spans time and has been long forgotten. I want you to know why and how I came to be. I can never exist as I once did; rust has been my doom. _


	2. The Robber's Blade

**Shadow:** Sorry about the shortness of the last chapter. I meant for that to be the prologue ;;; Anyways, thanks to those who have reviewed!!!

* * *

**Chapter One: The Robber's Blade**

The blood was flowing faster than she could stop it. With every contraction of his heart, more blood poured from the open wound like water from a smashed jar. She ripped her sleeve with her teeth and used the torn fabric to soak up his precious blood.

"Please hold on," she pleaded as she tied a makeshift tourniquet around his arm. She knew in her mind that the wound was too deep and if he didn't make it to a sanctum, he would…no, she wouldn't think about that.

Adrenaline was pulsing through her veins as she quickly scanned her surroundings. In the shade of a pine grew a soft green carpet of moss. She didn't bother to stand; she simply crawled across the forest floor and tore the furry plant from the soil. She crammed it in her mouth and began to chew at it like a piece of meat. It had a bitter, earthen taste. But she could bear the plant's taste if it meant saving him.

She cupped her hand and spat the green paste into it. With her free hand, she gingerly removed the bandage and smeared the salve into the wound in attempt to clot the blood. Her eyes kept returning to his face. His face was loosing its color, but not its beauty. She placed a hand on his face and gently caressed it. What was he to her? A friend? A teacher? A lover?

There was a rustle in the bushes behind her. Her staff lay in the grass beside her fallen comrade. She outstretched her palms and her staff flew to her hand in a burst of psyenergy. Her slender fingers wrapped themselves around the metal shaft of the weapon. A grey wolf leapt out of the underbrush and stepped towards her. At the sight, she let out the breath she had been holding.

"Don't scare me like that," she sighed as she lowered her weapon. The wolf glanced at her and then back at the fallen warrior. She watched his moist nostrils flare and take in the scent of his blood. "Touch him and die," she threatened. "You know better Romulus."

The wolf shot a glare at her. "_Like I can help it_," his voice echoed in her head. "_Now Rachel, be a dear and tell me what happened." _

She gave him a glare of her own and then turned away from the wolf. He sat on his haunches and watched her. All that was left to do was wait. Wait for the moon and wait for death.

* * *

"Here's the item you requested," a heavyset woman said as she handed Felix the sword. "We only accept cash, is that alright with you?"

"I know the routine," he sighed as he doled out the correct amount. "But first let me inspect it."

"Oh you know how the quality is!" she snapped as she placed her hands on her hips. Felix pulled the sword from its sheath and marveled at its beauty and craftsmanship. Not a fleck of orange remained on the now silver blade. The hilt's grip had been replaced and now the sword rested in his hand comfortably. "Sunshine wouldn't cheat you out of your money!"

"Another fine blade," Felix smiled as he re-sheathed the sword. "You never let me down, do you?"

A raspy laugh could be heard from forge. The aged Sunshine limped over to Felix. "Does the sword please you?" Felix nodded. "And the Glower Staff, how is it?"

"Perfect. It was worth every coin." This was a compliment coming from the frugal Venus adept. "What do you call this one?"

Sunshine scratched his bearded chin as he jogged his memory. "I think this one is the Robber's Blade. One of the lost weapons."

"Lost weapons?"

"I don't know too much about them. They are merely legends that I heard as a child. And my childhood was long ago enough to be known as a legend," he grumbled as he limped over to his bed. "This one just looks like the Robber's Blade. I have no idea if it is or not."

"And what about the Glower Staff?"

"Also, it just looks like it. I have no idea if it is the real Glower Staff or not." He untied his apron and hung it on the peg over his bed. "Come back if you find some more raw materials."

It was obvious that his visit with the master blacksmith was over.

* * *

The small bag fell on the table with a distinct jingle. Its owner pulled out a chair and lazily flopped into it. With his gloved hands, he pawed through the bag and produced a single gold coin and held it between his thumb and index finger. He examined the coin with his olivine eyes, scrutinizing over every detail. He brought the coin closer and sniffed it. He curled his lip up in disgust. There remained only one thing left to do. The coin met his canines and yielded beneath their force. The now bent coin flew across the table and ricocheted off the candle votive before hitting the oak with a clatter. The man did this to most of the coins in the bag, the ones that did not pass the visual and olfactory tests.

"Can I help you sir?" a young boy asked as he walked up to him. He was a scrawny boy, the innkeeper's son.

"Yes, I'll have ale," he growled.

"Half or a pint?"

"Pint."

"Coming right up sir," the boy said as he disappeared among the maze of tables. The man's ears perked up at the sound of the opening door. No one else seemed to hear the sound and continued on with their conversations. The visitor found his way to the table, standing opposite to his companion who was patiently waiting for his drink.

"What's the matter Romulus? You seem perturbed," he asked with a slight accent.

He countered with another question. "You want to know why I'm 'perturbed'?" The young man nodded. Romulus motioned for him to lean in closer. In one swift motion, he had his companion by the shirt collar and a sword at his neck. "I'm 'perturbed' because my assistant presents me with this crap instead of getting what his master really wanted!" he spat.

"I'm sorry! I was in a hurry! They were on to me!" he stammered. Romulus rotated the blade so that a single drop of blood collected on its glistening surface. He thrust the young man away and licked the blood from his sword. That was when he noticed the innkeeper's son, who had been watching the entire thing.

"Thank you my boy," he said in a softer tone. He placed one of the real coins in the boy's hand. "It's a shame that I must wash the taste of this blood away like this," he sighed before he took a swig. He looked up and saw that his assistant was rubbing the cut on his neck, blood seeping through his fingers. He sat down and wiped his hands on his pants leg. "You see those coins there on the table?" he asked. His assistant nodded. There were ten coins, all bent at a 90-degree angle. "That's your share."

"The people in Daila won't accept that!" he shouted, gesturing to the coins for emphasis. "Give me at least five! That's enough money for a loaf of bread for my mother and sister to last a week!"

"Maybe you should've thought about that when you raided that shop then," Romulus sneered as he returned to counting his loot.

"But you gave the boy a coin! Why can't you just give me one!"

"He was doing his job _correctly_."

"But that's not fair! I did mine correctly!"

"Well, life's not fair, is it?" he snarled. "Do you think it was fair for me to watch my father burned at the stake, ALIVE?" No response. "Do you think it was fair for me to become a thief in order for my mother and me to survive? Do you think it's fair that Adepts are persecuted now?" Still no response. "Well? Speak up, Jacob."

Jacob sat in silence under Romulus' stare. His green eyes sent shivers down his spine. With his hand under the table, he felt the scabs of when he last invoked his master's rage. They would soon be scars he remembered Romulus saying, a painful reminder of what happens when he decided to be disobedient. Two scars, one from each tooth, were enough. "No, it's not fair," he found himself mumbling. "It won't happen again."

Romulus gestured to the boy. "Bring me two more pints and two loaves of bread. Except wrap the second in a cloth." The boy nodded and rushed back to the kitchen. The two men sat in silence until the boy returned. The wrapped loaf was shoved into Jacob's hands as well as two coins. "Get your ass on the next ferry out to Daila. Deliver the bread to your family and meet me back here in Kalay. I'm giving you two days. This is enough for both passages, nothing more. Do you understand?"

Jacob nodded excitedly. He took the gifts and stood up to leave. "Aren't you going to have your drink?" He looked back, his face flushed red. He sat back down and enjoyed the oaken taste of the ale.


	3. Scapegoat

**Shadow:** I'm supposed to be writing my essay for history class. But it's summer and they can kiss my ass.

**Spark:**...

**Shadow**: Anyways, I was going to put this story on hold and work on Voyage of the Dusk Rider a bit, but I'm having a (hopefully temporary) writer's block for that one. So maybe if I work on this, the ideas will come. I decided to make this story a little darker because the basic theme of the story is abandonment and ruin. (Rating will go up…) I finally decided where I want to take this…It takes place shortly after the sealing away of Alchemy. In other words, a really long time ago; back in the day.

**Spark:** It may seem confusing at first, but we're going to reveal more as we go along.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Scapegoat**

"Three hundred coins ain't gonna cut it," the woman sighed. "I want _real_ money for this!" She held up the vial and shook it in the girl's face, taunting her even more.

"Please," the girl begged. Her face was stained with dirt and her hair was matted. Such was the look of one who had been living in an irrigation ditch for three weeks. "This is all I have. I'll make up the rest with jobs or chores. Just give it to me, please!"

"Listen child, Hermes' Water is now a rarity ever since the Mercury beacon was extinguished. I can't just go selling it to any old person who comes by," the woman explained.

"But my mother's sick! She needs it!"

The woman let out a sigh and ran her fingers through her dark hair. It was woven into dreadlocks, with a few beads woven into her hair every few strands. A traditional Dalian style. "I don't know if it'll help…" She reached into a jar and produced a small plant with bright blue berries and waxy leaves. "Take this."

"Thank you," the girl said with a smile. She gave a quick bow and ran off into the thick red dust.

"Did you just sell that girl the antidote?" another woman asked as she emerged from behind a curtain.

"What do you think?" she snapped as she placed the lid back on the jar. "Of course I didn't! You know about poor Rachel!"

"As a matter of fact, I don't," her sister sneered as she sat down on a stool.

"Her father died in the war," she answered as she dragged a root out from under the counter. "He was fighting with those that wanted the lighthouses to remain lit. But you know what happened to them…" She pulled out a cleaver and brought it down hard onto the root. She pointed to it, "that's what happened to them."

"What about the girl's mother? Can't she support herself and the girl?"

The woman scowled at her sister as she began chopping the root. "She came down with a fever. She can't work anymore since she's so sick." She scooped the slices into her hand. "No work means no money. The mayor threw her out of her house and now they live in the irrigation canals just outside of town." A dark blue mortar was at her feet. She bent down, dropped the plant onto it, and began mashing it with a pestle.

"I understand," the sister replied, although her body language said otherwise.

"You know," she whispered as she leaned in closer to her sister. "They say that an Adept cursed her. They cursed her because her husband and his allies lost the war."

Now there was a gleam of interest in her sibling's eye. "What about that man that passed through here a few days ago? Wasn't he one of 'them'?"

"Those are rumors," she snorted as she pulled away and went about mashing. "But if an Adept is found in this town, boy will they be in for it. The mayor believes that they're the ones responsible for this terrible drought we've been having." She paused for a moment to wipe her brow and gaze up at the sun.

"Well, whomever's responsible deserves a sound beating."

* * *

Every footfall released a heavy cloud of thick red dust. It hadn't rained in days and the soil was loose and could be easily blown away if you breathed on it. By the time Rachel had returned home, she was covered from head to toe in red dust. She found her mother lying in the moist mud of the irrigation ditch. "I'm back," she panted. She slid down the steep sides and landed in the sludge with a distinct "plop".

The three days in the ditch had been hard. No food, no water, and no relief from the unrelenting sun. Her mother's fever had gotten worse and her face was as red as the dust that covered Rachel's legs and feet. It wasn't healthy for her mother to be lying here in the quagmire, but they had nowhere else to go. "I brought you some medicine," she squeaked as she kneeled beside her mother. Carefully, she plucked the blue berries off their stems and forced them between her mother's dry, chapped lips.

She jumped at the sound of movement above her. Trying her best not to make a sound, she clamored up the walls and peered over the edge. Two farmers with tattered sunhats picked at the ground with their hoes. Shriveled weeds lay before them in neat rows. "It's hopeless. The crops are dead," one of them sighed.

"It's all their fault!" his companion shouted as he threw down his hoe in frustration. "What did those so-called 'scholars' know? Sealing away alchemy was the worst mistake anyone's ever made!"

"Yes, but they were afraid that it would have been used for evil. Remember, it almost happened once," his friend said as picked up the discarded tool.

"Once, it happened once," he growled. "They just wanted to prove their point. They were just jealous of the Adepts!"

"And how can you prove that?"

"I don't need to prove my point," he growled as he took the hoe away from his companion. "I know it from experience."

"What? Are you jealous of the adepts?" his friend laughed. The farmer narrowed his eyes and shot the man a menacing glare. He couldn't control his rage and so it manifested itself in the form of psyenergy. A plume of flames showered down upon the man, sending him staggering backwards with shock. "Sol! You're an adept!" he stammered.

The man turned to run, but he was stopped when the farmer dug his sickle into the man's back. With a sadistic grin on his face, he pulled the sickle, and the man, back over to him. "Now I can't have you running off and telling everyone my little secret." He ripped the blade out of the man and let the body fall to the soil.

Rachel covered her mouth to silence herself. She quietly slid back down to the bottom of the trench and waited for the man to leave. Her instinct told her to run, far away. But part of her wanted to stay here in the muddy ditch with her dying mother. She had to protect her; that man, that murderer, was on the loose. "I won't leave your side," she whispered as she looked down at her mother. "I promise."

The sound of movement above her startled her and she let out a scream as she saw the farmer staring down at her. "Well what do we have here?" he sneered. "Looks like I found a rat sneaking around in my irrigation ditches! I might have to do myself a little extermination." Rachel's legs were frozen with fear. Run and leave her mother? Or stay and die along with her. The sharp edge of the sickle glistened in the sun as the farmer prepared to jump down and strike.

The next moment seemed like a blur. He leapt down, blade poised to strike. She knew it was the end and she tightly shut her eyes and waited patiently for her inevitable death. But a powerful gust of wind blew the man back and struck him against the wall. His sickle found the back of his head and he slumped over, blood trickling down his neck. When she opened her eyes, she realized the two truths that had been revealed. One: she was a murderer now. Two: she was an adept.

"Oh mother," she gasped as she knelt down. She took her hand in order to feel that sense of security, but she felt nothing but cold skin. "Mother?" She placed a hand on her neck and felt for the jugular. But there was no pulse, no sign of life. The tears began to stream down her face. "No…no, this can't be! I can't be left all alone!"

* * *

They found the three bodies near the ditch later that day. Rumors and fear spread throughout Daila of a terrible man. A cold-blooded killer with dark eyes and a sick sense of humor. Of course, he was an adept. And he was automatically blamed for the drought as well.

"We will find this killer and make him pay!" the mayor bellowed at the town meeting.

The village elders nodded in agreement with the mayor's plan. But there was one thing that raised suspicion among them: Rachel. Where was she in all of this? Her mother was found dead in the ditch along with the other two men. Her footprints could be seen in the mud but the owner of the prints was nowhere to be found. They presented this dilemma to the mayor.

"He might have kidnapped her…" he mused. "Poor child, now we really have a reason to find this killer! Everyone spread out and comb the area!"

From within the alabaster jar, she could hear the men of the town running through the streets. Looking for the killer, who was her. She would never have the courage to show her face again if she came out of that jar. But the pungent smell of the herbs was almost too much for her to handle.

"Here, I'll just get it myself," the muffled voice of a man said outside. Rachel panicked as the lid was slowly removed and light poured into the jar. "What's this?" he asked as he drew his head back in surprise. "Playing hide-and-go-seek?"

"Please don't tell anyone I'm here!" she hissed. "This isn't a game!"

"Well, I can do that. But first you have to give me the herb that I bought," he said as he held out his hand. She nodded as she reached down and handed him one of the pungent leaves. He gave her a wink as he placed the lid back on the jar. She knew that she would have to find a better hiding place.

After what seemed like hours of waiting in silence, she stood up and slowly lifted the lid just enough she could peer out. A crowd had gathered in the center of town. Darkness had fallen and the area was illuminated by torch and lamplight. Something had happened and had drawn away the apocothery, giving Rachel a chance to escape. Taking care to be as quiet as possible, she climbed up out of the tall, narrow jar.

"Kill him! He's the one who killed those three people!" she heard someone shout. A combination of guilt and curiosity impelled her to approach the crowd. "He's hiding Rachel somewhere! Or maybe he's already done to her what he's done to the others!"

"I just arrived in town earlier this morning! I wasn't even aware of anything," a familiar voice pleaded.

"You idiot," one of them laughed. "That's not much of a plea! If anything, that makes you even more guilty than you were before!"

"And you're an adept, aren't you?"

No response came from the man. "You can't even say anything in your own defense, can you?" He still remained silent. "Then I guess that means you're guilty."

Rachel elbowed her way through the awe-struck crowd. She found her way between the accused and the accuser. "He has nothing to do with any of this!" She swallowed hard before realizing what she was getting herself into. "I'm the one you want!" Whispers and gasps could be heard spreading though the crowd. "I'm an adept! But I didn't kill those people!"

"Is this true, Rachel?" one woman asked, a stern expression on her face.

"The two men killed each other and my mother died on her own. I didn't do anything…" She could see anger, fear, and resentment burning in the eyes of her neighbors. Hands tightened around pitchforks and machetes.

"So, it was **you** who brought all of this misfortune upon us! **You're** the adept that's been in our midst, bringing all the bad luck upon us!" an old man shouted as he waved his torch for emphasis. "You're the one who should be killed!" The crowd began shouted and screaming as they moved in closer to the girl.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. The man who had been accused was looking down on her and smiling. "Don't be afraid. I'm going to help you," he whispered as he showed her a glimpse of a blue stone. "Give me your hand." She did as she told and placed her small hand into his large, calloused palm. "Teleport!" he shouted as he held the stone up high. A bright light washed over them and when it faded, they had disappeared.

* * *

The people of Daila were growing weary of the constant visitors. So it was only natural that Jacob received cold glares and sarcastic comments as he sauntered into town. He had no idea of the trouble that had fallen upon the northern town.

"Rachel? Why do you want to know about that little wench?" a man laughed at the young man when questioned.

"She's my sister and I brought her and my mother some food. Can you please tell me where they are?" he pleaded.

"Sure I can. Your mother's dead; Rachel killed her and two other men," he replied. He said this calmly, as if it were no big deal.

"What?" he gasped. "What do you mean Rachel killed them?"

"She's an adept and she used her strange powers to kill them. She skipped town with another one of 'her kind'." He looked over Jacob carefully. His dark brown, curly hair had already accumulated flecks of red dust, which Jacob batted away. His skin had grown tanner and he had grown taller and thinner. "You said you were her brother?" He had her blue eyes.

"Yes. Why do you…" The man pulled out his machete and struck it through Jacob's abdomen. He let out a whimper as he dropped the loaf of bread he had been holding.

"You need to start looking out for your little sister," he growled. "Looks like you're going to have to pay for her crimes." He pulled the blade out and watched as Jacob staggered over to a barrel. His eyes were beginning to glaze over as he fell to his knees and crumpled over. The last image that came to his mind was Romulus. He was staring at him with his striking green eyes. They burned through him and pained him more than his wound. But soon, he felt no pain, only the man's cold, green eyes.

* * *

**Shadow:** Yea, the rating's _definitely_ going to go up after that scene. :uneasy laugh:

**Spark:** Your sick and twisted writing style's coming through…

**Shadow:** Well, when you're being forced against your own will to do history homework over the summer, you begin to have sick and twisted thoughts.

**Spark:** Whatever, please review! We'd really like some feedback.


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